Moooo #5

You guys better be liking the Creepypastas! It's hard work xl and I'm lazy 

Anyways what Creepypasta should I post next ? "The Russian sleep expiriment" or "Smile for me" ? 

Comment below thx ig baiiiiii 

A quiet man

(No copyright intended)

During the day I work a normal, boring retail job. It's nothing special but it pays the bills and I'm good at it. I just got a nice promotion, my bosses all respect me (though there are a few I suspect don't like me) and I'm making enough to get by. But it's boring. Incredibly boring. There are days where we get so few customers that I resort to counting my steps as I make my way in a long circle around my section. Today I walked 6,193 steps. So, despite being successful, I hate my job. That's why I have another one.

I've been called a prostitute by people who don't understand what it is I do; and even by a few of my clients. But I'm not. I never have sex with my clients, for the most part I don't even get close enough to touch them. They do pay to spend the night with me but what we do is much more mundane than prostitution. Usually we just talk. That's it. Sometimes I'll have a client that wants to play a board game or watch a movie but it all comes back to them wanting someone to talk to. A little companionship.

They're mostly middle aged men, sometimes women, generally they have a least a little success and a lot of money, they're workaholics and most of them have a pretty bad drinking problem and they are all incredibly lonely. The few that have families don't like going home to them because they have difficulty relating and the ones that don't have families desperately wish to start one. It can be a depressing job but I enjoy it. I feel like I'm really helping some of these people, and that's what I've always wanted to do. Help.

Most nights follow a basic pattern. The client and I will meet somewhere, usually a restaurant, we'll go back to their home or they'll book a hotel, they usually put on a movie, and then we'll talk. Sometimes I'll do all the talking, sometimes they will. Some of them want to scream and vent, some want to cry, some want to tell jokes, and no matter what I'll listen. The sessions last anywhere from 2 to 6 hours and by the end they all seem happier. Then they pay me, always cash, and go home.

It's an easy job and pretty lucrative so it's well worth the occasional weirdo. But there was one client that got to me, that really made me want to quit.

He contacted me in late December and I agreed to meet him on January 2. He wanted me to meet him at his apartment - a condition I don't readily agree to and which comes with a significant increase in price - and he wanted the session to last only two hours.

It was snowing when I arrived and the sun was just rising over the roofs of the large apartment complex he lived in. It was a fairly ritzy place, lots of modern art on the walls and two big fountains in front of the main office - both totally frozen. There was a doorman in the lobby of his building and I had to sign in. The doorman seemed slightly offput by my less-than expensive clothes but that sort of thing didn't bother me. The man's apartment was on the fourth floor so I took the elevator and the whole time I felt strange. Not scared, just strange.

When I reached the fourth floor I realized that the apartments were cold, like there was no heater and I wondered if the power was out. If so, the man probably wouldn't be in a good mood. I made my way down the corridor, noting how each door was totally identical but for the gold numbers. There were no sounds coming from behind any of those doors and I assumed everyone was out, probably working considering how expensive the apartments must have been. Looking back, I'm not so sure.

The man's door was already open and it stood out in all the unbroken color of the wall. Seeing the empty space where the door should be only increased my uneasiness. When I reached the room I knocked, despite the obvious sign of welcome. The door opened into a small hallway that fed into the main room. I couldn't see anything in there but there as a painting hanging at the end of the hall showing a greenish landscape at night. It was an unremarkable picture but for the tiny cottage at the bottom-right that gave a sense of scope.

I stepped into the hallway and made my way around the corner. I moved slowly, scared to break the seemingly intrinsic silence of the place, and when I came around I found my client. He was sitting at a small table in the middle of an otherwise empty room. The room was large, bigger than I would have thought. At the time it seemed too big but I think that it was just an illusion caused by the smallness of the table. I don't really know. I'm unsure of a lot of things from that day.

The man looked up at me. He didn't smile or wave, or really acknowledge me in any way other than that stare. He was as unremarkable as his single painting. Plain face, glasses, cropped hair and clothes that reminded me of a banker. He sat with his back straight and his hands laced on the table. His elbows rested on his thighs.

This is the part where I should have walked away, where to this day I can't explain my actions. Nothing was right about this scene. I've come up with a million logical explanations for why his apartment was empty, for why I can't remember there being any other doors in that apartment that might lead to a bedroom or a bathroom, and for why now whenever I think of that painting on the wall my body reacts as if it were something grotesque. But none of them feel true. They all sound like lies in my head. There was just something wrong with that place.

I had a knife with me - you can't be too careful - and for just a moment I had thought about bringing it out. But I didn't, instead I made my way to the table and took a seat across from the man. He didn't say anything and neither did I. We merely sat and stared at one another.

Think about how you sit for a moment. Are you still? Do you fidget? Do you twiddle your fingers and move your eyes around the room as though it's somehow changed in the last few seconds? I spend a lot of time sitting with people and watching them and I tell you that no one is still. Everybody loses patience, loses endurance, and moves. We aren't calm creatures, even when we rest.

This man did none of that. His posture was solid and irreducible. He was rigid, like a rock. I got the feeling then and I feel now that he could have sat that way all day, for several days, and never once moved. Seeing this, however, made me fidged more. I found myself unable to get comfortable for even a second at a time. I had to shift my body several times and I cracked my knuckles more than once. I was sweating, despite the cold and my heartbeat struck the inside of my chest with unusual clarity. And all through this the man seemed to be getting excited.

There was no change in his posture or in his face, nothing to really show that he was reacting at all, but I could feel it. His pleasure buzzed in my head and slowly choked me. It was like he was feeding off of it, growing despite staying the same. It was a surreal Hell of discomfort that was more terrible than the worst dream I've ever had.

Eventually, I don't know when, the man had laid money on the table. The sight of it came to me as if through a feverish haze. It was as though my body had been asleep, though my eyes were open, and had suddenly come awake and my senses were all taking time to come back. I stared at the thick wad of bills for several minutes before realizing what it meant.

I snatched it up and left without a word. The man hadn't moved and he still wore the same blank expression as when I had first seen him. I felt him watching me as I left but I didn't turn around and as I left I made sure to avoid looking at the painting. The door was still open and I didn't bother closing it. The corridor was still silent, all the doors still closed but now I felt that the rooms weren't empty. I felt things behind the doors, perhaps standing in the hallway or watching through the peep holes.

I didn't run. Not because I was brave but because I felt that if I ran I wouldn't be able to keep my balance. The hall was spinning and pulsating and it took all of my concentration just to push the button to call the elevator. I stepped inside and as the doors closed I caught one last glimpse of the looming shadow that was the man's open door.

In the lobby, the doorman had been replaced. This new one was much nicer, he greeted me as I signed out and even wished me good night as I left the building. Outside, the sun had gone down and a thick coat of snow had covered the world.

I don't know how long I was in that room. I don't want to know. But I threw the money away. I dug a hole in the snow and buried it. Hopefully when the snow melted it destroyed those bills. I didn't want it. I felt defiled. I shut my business down for awhile after that but it didn't last long. Since meeting with that man I've found that I long to listen to people. It's different now. I need to hear these people's stories, I need to feel their emotions. I feel less satisfied than before, less good about what I'm doing. I feel more like I'm using these people.

I feel defiled.

Moooo #4

So Ima do  "A quiet man " !! Yay x3 I'll post in a bit
(Yeah it's just a random guy but theirs no picture for this Creepypasta)






                                     

Mooo #3

HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THE STORY! please comment on what I Creepypasta I should post next, "A quiet man" or "1978" ?

Laughing Jack

(No copyright intended) 

It was a nice summer day, my 5-year-old son James was playing outside in the backyard of our suburban home. James has always been a quiet boy, he plays by himself mostly, he never had many friends, but he has always had a wild imagination. I was in the kitchen feeding our dog Fido, when I heard what sounded like James talking to someone in the backyard. I’m not sure who it was he could be talking to, could he have finally made a friend? Being a single mom it’s hard for me to always keep an eye on my son, so I decided to go outside and check on him.

When I went into the backyard I was a bit confused, because James was the only person back there. Was he talking to himself? I could have sworn I heard another voice. “James! It’s time to come inside.” I called out to him. He came inside and sat down at the kitchen table, it was about lunchtime so I decided to make him a turkey sandwich. “James. Who were you talking to out there?” I asked. James looked up for a moment, “I was playing with my new friend,” he said smiling. I poured him some milk and continued to pry, as any good mother would. “Does your friend have a name? Why didn’t you ask him to have lunch with us?” I asked. James stared at me for a moment before replying, “His name is Laughing Jack.” I was a bit taken back by what he had said. “Oh? That’s a strange name. What does your friend look like?” I asked a bit confused. “He’s a clown. He has long hair and a big swirly cone nose. He’s got long arms and baggy pants, with stripy socks, and he always smiles.” I realized my son was talking about an imaginary friend. I suppose it is normal for kids his age to have imaginary friends, especially when he has no real kids to play with. It’s probably just a phase.

The rest of the day went by as per usual, and it was starting to get late so I put James to bed. I tucked him in, gave him a kiss, and made sure to turn on his nightlight before I closed the door. I was pretty tired myself so I decided to go to bed not long after. I had an awful nightmare…

It was dark. I was in some kind of rundown amusement park. I was scared, running through an endless field of empty tents, broken down rides, and abandoned game huts. The whole place had a horrible look to it. Everything was black and white, the prize stuffed animals all hung from nooses in the game huts, all with sick grins stitched on their faces. It felt like the whole park was looking at me, even though there wasn’t another living thing in sight. Then suddenly, I began to hear music play. The sounds of Pop Goes the Weasel being played on a squeezebox echoed through the park, it was hypnotizing. I followed its tune to the circus tent almost in a trance, unable to stop my legs from moving forward. It was pitch black, the only light came from a single spotlight shining on the center of the big top. As I walked toward the light the music slowed down, I found myself singing along unable to stop.

“All around the mulberry bush

The monkey chased the weasel

The monkey though twas all in fun…”

The music stopped right before its climax, and suddenly the lights shot on. The intensity of the lights was practically blinding, all I could see was a small dark silhouette shuffle towards me. Then another one appeared, and another, and another. There were dozens of them, all coming toward me. I couldn’t move, my legs were frozen, all I could do was watch as the haunting figures drew nearer. As they got closer I could see… THEY WERE CHILDREN! As I looked at each one I noticed they were all horribly disfigured and mutilated. Some had cuts all over their body, others were severely burnt, and others were missing limbs, even eyes! The children enveloped me, clawing at my flesh, dragging me to the ground, and tearing inside me. As the children tore me apart and I faded away, all I could hear was laughter, horrible, awful, evil, laughter.

I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. After taking a few deep breaths I looked over and saw that a few of James’ action figures were positioned facing me on top of my nightstand. I sighed, James had probably woken up early and put these here. I gathered up the toys and made my way to James’ room, however when I opened the door James was sound asleep. I just shrugged and placed the toys back into his toy box, and headed out to the living room. A little while later James woke up and I made him his breakfast. He was quiet and seemed a bit groggy, perhaps he didn’t sleep well either. I decided to ask him about the toys, “James honey, did you put the toys in mommy’s room this morning?” His eyes shot up at me for a moment then quickly glanced back down at his cereal. “Laughing Jack did it.” I rolled my eyes and responded, “Well you tell ‘Laughing Jack’ to keep the toys in your room.” James nodded and finished up his breakfast, then decided to go play out in the back yard.

I went to relax in the living room and I must have dozed off, because I woke up a couple hours later. “Shit! I need to check on James.” I was a bit worried, it had been over 2 hours and I haven’t checked on him. I went stepped out into the backyard, but James wasn’t there anymore. I was getting nervous so I called out to him, “JAMES! JAMES WHERE ARE YOU?!” Just then I heard a giggle come from the front yard. I rushed through the gate around to the front of the house. James was sitting on the sidewalk. I breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to him, “James how many times have I told you to stay in the backya… James, what are you eating?” James looked up at me then reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand full of hard candies in all colors. This made me very nervous, “James, who gave you that candy?” James just stared at me not speaking. “JAMES! Please, tell mommy where you got that candy.” James hung his head down and said “Laughing Jack gave it to me.” My heart sunk, I kneeled down to look him in the eye, “ James I’ve had had enough of this damn Laughing Jack thing, HE IS NOT REAL! Now this is a very serious situation and I need to know who gave you the candy!” I could see my son’s eyes tear up, “But mama, Laughing Jack DID give me the candy.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, James has never lied to me but what he’s telling me is impossible. I make him spit out the candy and I throw the rest away, James appears to be fine. Maybe I’m just overreacting after all he could have gotten it from Tom and Linda from next door, or Mr. Walker down the street. Either way I’m going to have to keep a closer eye on James. That night I put James to bed as usual, and decided to go to bed early myself.

Suddenly I was woken up by a loud bang coming from the kitchen. I sprung out of bed and hurried down the stairs. When I got to the kitchen I was horrified. Every thing on the counters had been thrown on the floor, and our dog Fido hung dead from the light fixture. His stomach was cut open and stuffed with candy, the same type that James was eating earlier that day. My shock was quickly broken by a sharp scream coming from James’ room followed by loud crashes. I quickly grabbed a knife from the drawer and moved up the stairs with the speed that only a mother whose child is in danger could have. I burst through the door and flicked on the lights. Everything in the room was knocked over and tossed on the floor, my poor son in his bed crying and shaking with fear, a pool of urine staining the sheets. I scooped my child up and ran out of the house and went next door to Tom and Linda’s house, Luckily they were still awake. They let me use their phone and I called the police. It didn’t take them long to arrive, and I explained what had happened, they looked at me as if I were crazy. They searched the house, but all they found was a dead dog and 2 trashed rooms. The officer told me that someone had probably gotten into the house and done this right before making a quick escape when they heard me coming up the stairs. I knew it wasn’t true. All the doors were locked and none of the windows were open, whatever was in my house didn’t come from outside.

The next day James stayed inside, I didn’t want him to leave my sight. I went into the garage and found his old baby monitor and set it up in his room, if anything comes into his room tonight, I was going to be able to hear it. I went to the kitchen and grabbed the largest knife from the drawer and put it on my nightstand. Imaginary friend or not, I’m not letting anything hurt my little boy.

Soon enough night came. I put James to bed, he was afraid, but I promised him that I wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. I tucked him in, gave him a kiss, and turned on the nightlight. Before closing the door I whispered to him “Goodnight James, I love you.”

I tried to stay up as long as I could, but after a few hours I felt myself drifting off. My baby would be safe for the night and I needed to sleep. Just as I lay my head on the pillow I heard a soft noise come form the baby monitor I had put on my nightstand. At first it sounded like interference, like the kind a radio would make. Then it turned into a soft moan. Was James asleep? Then I heard it, the laugh from my nightmare, that horrible laugh. I sprung up from bed and grabbed the knife from under my pillow. I rushed over to James’ room and creaked the door open. I tried the light switch but it wouldn’t come on. I took a step in and I could feel the warm thick liquid on my feet. Suddenly James’ nightlight came on and I could see the absolute horror laid out in front of me.

James’ body was nailed up on the wall, the nails piercing through his hands and feet. His chest was cut wide open and his organs hung down to the floor. His eyes and tongue had been removed along with most of his teeth. I was disgusted, I could hardly believe this was my baby boy. Then I heard it again, the soft desperate moan. JAMES WAS STILL ALIVE! My baby, my poor baby, in so much pain barely clinging to life. I ran across the room and vomited on the floor, but my sickness was interrupted by a horrible cackle coming from behind me. I spun around while still wiping bile from my mouth, then out of the shadows emerged the fiend responsible for all this horror, Laughing Jack. His ghost white skin and matted black hair hung down to his shoulders. He had piercing white eyes surrounded by dark black rings. His twisted smile revealed a row of sharp jagged teeth, and his skin didn’t look like skin at all, it almost looked like rubber or plastic. He wore a patchy, black and white clown outfit with striped sleeved and socks. His body itself was grotesque, his long arms hanging down past his waist and the way he was poised made him look almost boneless, like a ragdoll. He let out a sickening laughh as if to let me know he was pleased with my reaction to his ‘work’. He then turned around slowly in front of James and began to laugh even more at the horrific sight he has laid out. That was enough to shake me from my terror, I snapped, “GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU BASTARD!” I rushed at the monster raising the knife above my head, and stabbed down at him, but as soon as the knife touched him he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. The knife passed right through and pierced James’ still beating heart, splashing the warm blood on my face….

No… what have I done? My baby, I killed my baby! I immediately fell to my knees, and I could hear sirens in the distance growing louder… My boy, my sweet baby boy… I promised mommy would protect you… But I failed… I’m sorry James… I’m so sorry…

Police soon arrived to find me in front of my son, still wielding the knife covered in my baby’s blood. The trial was short, insanity. I was placed in the Phiropoulos House for the Criminally Insane, where I have been for the past 2 months. Its not so bad here, the only reason I’m awake now is because someone is playing Pop Goes the Weasel outside my window… I’ll talk to the orderlies about it in the morning…

                                                                    Mooooo #2
  
 So I'm doing laughing Jack apparently! Yay!  I'll post it in a while!

Laughing Jack

Moooooo

                            Moooooooo

     Hello proxy's , this is my first post! I decided to make it about your opinions. CreepyPasta is very important to me and I hope it's important to you too. There are many ways I can post about CreepyPasta, like fanfic,stories about them,or stories about there past,e.c.t.

   My purpose in this post is for you to help me in what to post. 

    So please comment in what I should post. Also who should I post about? Eyeless Jack or Laughing Jack? 

   

    Thanks for your support I guess. Bai , stay creepy. 

                                  -Meh